Magebane (41 page)

Falk was tempted to leave it at that, but he knew the importance of mixing a little honey with the bitter vinegar. “These buildings can be rebuilt,” he said. “Not in one year, or five years, or ten years, but in one day, one week, one month. The magic that destroyed them can build them up again. Your city can be what it was . . . if you cooperate with me.” He scanned the faces again. “And if it is me you hate,” he said, “don't think of it as cooperating with me. I serve King Kravon. Serve him in turn as duty demands, and I will be as pleased on his order to build up your city as I am sorrowful at having to tear it down.”

Still nothing. Falk found the crowd's silent, steady regard slightly unnerving, as though they were measuring him against something and finding him wanting. But he shrugged off the feeling, turned, and jumped down from the statue's pedestal. “Get me out of here,” he said to the guards. They formed a tight phalanx of blue and steel around him and marched him through the crowd, which parted in front of him and closed in behind him like water passing under a boat.

Back in the Palace, he first checked on the MageFurnace. As he had expected, the Mageborn had driven the water away as clouds of steam, sent out through the Chimneys. The fires were being stoked, the heat returning. The interruption in power had been minute, and if a few magelights had gone out, a few magelinks cut in mid-conversation, a few breakfasts left uncooked, and a few MageLords left unwashed, well, what of it? The Lesser Barrier had not been touched, for like the Great Barrier, it drew its power, via the King's Keys, from the great fiery Cauldron in the north.

Where, if everything had gone as planned, Falk thought bitterly, he would soon have been traveling with that little vixen Brenna.

Had Tagaza located her? Tagaza couldn't tell him. He had remained unconscious since the eruption of steam from the MageFurnace had interrupted his spell. No Healer had yet been able to wake him, or even figure out why he still slept.

No Healer currently in the Palace, at any rate. But Falk had another Healer to call on. If anyone could Heal Tagaza, it would be Mother Northwind.

And then he turned onto the broad boulevard leading up to the Palace from the bridge, and saw a carriage bearing his coat of arms being driven away from the main entrance, and quickened his pace, knowing that she had arrived.

He found her in the rooms he had set aside for her, not far from his own, sitting by the fire, knitting, as though she had never left her cottage. “Well, Lord Falk,” she said as he came in, before he could say anything at all, “I must thank you for sending your men-at-arms for me last evening. It saved me that long walk down to the manor to demand they take me to the Palace.”

“Good day to you, too, Mother Northwind,” Falk said dryly. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

Mother Northwind snorted. “Too old for small talk,” she said. “We both know why I'm here. You need me to question Davydd Verdsmitt for you. And I want to be here when you find Brenna and the Prince . . . poor lambs.”

“You are quite correct in the former,” Falk said. “Verdsmitt, if he is not the mysterious Patron, is at least very high up in the Common Cause. He can name names, people we can arrest and question in turn, until the whole foul web unravels. You heard what they did to the MageFurnace.”

“I heard,” Mother Northwind said sympathetically. “You poor MageLords. No running water for a whole morning!”

“The inconvenience was minor,” Falk said, refusing to be baited. “And the only people killed were Commoners. But as a symbol of rebellion . . . it could not be allowed to stand.”

“Rather like the buildings in New Cabora Square?” Mother Northwind chuckled. “I hear you've been making some ‘forceful' speeches there.”

“Someone will give me information,” Falk said. “I don't care how popular the Common Cause, there are those who will betray them to stop the destruction.”

“People can be funny about things like that,” Mother Northwind said. “Don't count your hawks before they're fledged, as they say.” She put aside her knitting, glanced around, and laughed. “I'll be thinking I'm old, next. Here I am looking for my cat to jump in my lap, and I left him behind with one of your scullery maids. Well.” She smoothed her dress, then reached for her cane. “Hadn't you better take me to Verdsmitt, then?”

Falk cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why so anxious?”

Mother Northwind sighed. “Lord Falk, I have many friends among the Commoners. If there is anything I can do to stop this destruction of New Cabora, I want to do it as soon as possible.” Then she chuckled. “Besides,” she said, “a chance to rummage around in the head of the famous Davydd Verdsmitt? How often does a girl get an opportunity like that?”

She struggled a bit getting to her feet—probably stiff after her long carriage ride, he thought—but he made no move to help her; no power on Earth could have compelled him to get close enough to Mother Northwind for her to touch him. As she heaved herself up, he said, “You haven't asked me about Brenna.”

“You obviously haven't found her,” Mother Northwind said. “What is there to ask about?” She took a deep breath. “Don't ever grow old, Lord Falk. It is a terrible thing.”

“Considering the alternative, I think I'd like to risk it.” Falk said. “You're right, Mother Northwind, I haven't found her. The last confirmed sighting of the airship was several miles west of the lake. After that, nothing. They had lost a lot of height since fleeing the manor. I don't think they could have cleared the lake. But where they went after that . . .” He shook his head. “We'll find her. That is the other thing I need you here for, Mother Northwind.”

She had hobbled closer, and he carefully, while trying to avoid the appearance of haste, backed into the hallway in front of her. “Me, Lord Falk? I have no magic with which to find Brenna.”

“No, but Tagaza does,” Falk said. “He would have found her already if not for the sabotage of the MageFurnace. And now he is unconscious. The Palace Healers don't understand what is wrong with him. But you . . .”

Mother Northwind sighed. “I will examine him for you, Lord Falk. In both ways, if you like.”

Falk was tempted . . .
very
tempted . . . but he had given Tagaza his word that if he cooperated, he would not let Mother Northwind into his mind. For the sake of honor, as well as for the many years they had known each other and whatever friendship that had entailed, he would keep that promise . . . for the moment, at least.

“No, Mother Northwind. Just heal him so he can perform the spell again.”

“As you wish.” She had stopped, and for a moment he wondered why, until she said, “Well, are you going to take me to Verdsmitt or not? I don't know where he is!”

“Of course.” Falk led the way, reminding himself again that Mother Northwind was only a talented soft mage, neither omniscient nor omnipotent . . . and, ultimately, his servant.

Soon
, he thought,
to be my subject
.

It was useful to remind himself of those things, because Mother Northwind had a knack for keeping him off-balance.

Davydd Verdsmitt sat in his cell, writing. He had asked for, and to his surprise received pen, ink, and paper. The new play was going well, all the mental writing he had done paying off in an almost seamless flow of words onto the page.

Not that it was any more likely than it had been that the play would ever be produced, but that didn't matter. Verdsmitt was a writer, and so, he wrote.

But he was also much more, and even while he wrote, he was aware of what was happening outside his cell. He had felt Tagaza's effort to build some powerful spell in the Spellchamber high atop the Palace . . . and the sudden lessening of power all around as the MageFurnace had been doused with lake water. At that moment, he could have broken out of his cell, instituted his own backup plan, and added to the chaos—but he did not.

He did not, because he knew that the Patron was on her way to the Palace, and that could only mean that her Plan was still in effect.

He felt her arrival and, a short time later, felt her approaching with Falk. As the Minister of Public Safety and Mother Northwind approached his door, he tidied away his manuscript and stood to greet them.

A guard opened the door, and Lord Falk stepped in first. He glanced from Verdsmitt to the stacked papers. “So glad to see your stay with us hasn't been wasted,” he said. “Davydd Verdsmitt, allow me to present Mother Northwind, a Healer of great renown. I have asked her to examine you so that we can assure the Commons you are unharmed. It might go some way to lessening tensions brought on by . . . recent events.”

He thinks I don't know anything of what has happened
, Verdsmitt thought,
that I don't know what he has done in the Commons, or what the Commoners did here. Well, no need to set him right.
“I believe I am quite well, but of course I would be glad of a second opinion.” He nodded politely. “Mother Northwind. An interesting name. Do you mind if I use it in some future play? Perhaps you could be a friend to Goodwife Beth.”

Mother Northwind's mouth quirked. “I would be honored.” She looked at Falk. “There's no need for you to stay. I know how busy you are this morning.”

“There are, indeed, things I must attend to,” Falk said. “I'll await the results of your examination in my office.” He nodded to Mother Northwind, inclined his head slightly to Verdsmitt, and went out.

The guard closed the door behind him.

“Welcome, Patron,” Verdsmitt said.

“Mother Northwind, please,” she said. “I realize no one can eavesdrop on us while I wear this,” she lifted her arm, showing a silver bracelet fogged with condensation that he himself had enchanted for her some months previously, and whose presence he had sensed the moment she entered, “but it is still best to be discreet. It's simply a good habit. We Healers are very big on encouraging good habits, you know.” She looked him up and down, and smiled a little. “In my professional opinion, you look well, Davydd.”

“As do you, Pa . . . Mother Northwind.”

“Ah, I may look like a young girl still, but my knees are those of an old woman,” Mother Northwind said. “Sit with me.”

They sat side by side on the narrow bed. “How stands the Plan?” Verdsmitt said.

“Better than I had hoped, when Brenna and that dolt of a boy from Outside took it on themselves to fly away from Falk's manor.”

Verdsmitt cocked his head to one side. “That sentence,” he said slowly, “almost makes sense . . .”

“Never mind,” Mother Northwind said. “Better you don't know of it so you cannot accidentally let slip something about something you don't know about.”

Verdsmitt started to protest both her sentence construction and her warning, then thought better of both. “Good habits,” he said instead.

“Exactly,” said Mother Northwind. “But there are some things by rights you shouldn't know that you
must
know. So: Brenna ran away from home, but I have located her and she is being brought to the city. And Prince Karl, shortly after you were arrested, was . . . kidnapped by the Common Cause.”

Verdsmitt shot her a look, an exaggerated “take” that on stage would almost certainly have gotten a laugh. It elicited a chuckle even from Mother Northwind. “A surprise to us all, I'm sure. But not to worry. I know where he is, and he's safe . . . he's at Goodwife Beth's.”

Verdsmitt snorted. “Depends on what you mean by ‘safe.' ”

“Anyway, he's out of the city. No one but the members of Vinthor's cell know where . . . and they're all at Beth's as well. There is no one to betray him in New Cabora, no matter what . . . incentives . . . Falk may provide.”

“That is one of the things I should not know, and so I can say nothing of it to Falk,” Verdsmitt said softly, “but I know what he has done to my city. He has brought to it what the MageLords always, sooner or later, bring to the lives of Commoners: wreck, ruin, and destruction.” He lowered his voice, even though he knew no one could hear. “Give me leave to kill him, too, Patron.”

This time Mother Northwind did not rebuke him for using that title. Instead she studied him thoughtfully. “You are remarkably bloodthirsty for a playwright,” she said. “And remarkably set against the MageLords for one who is, after all, one of them.”

“I haven't considered myself a MageLord since I was sixteen years old,” Verdsmitt snarled. “As you well know.”

He instantly regretted losing his temper. As a man who had led a double life for a very long time, and as a professional actor, he prided himself on being able to school his emotions. But he hated to be reminded of the accident of birth that had made him MageLord, even though without it he would not have the unique skills that made him so valuable to Mother Northwind's plan now.